


Less a Bite, More a Nibble

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always a girl Stiles, F/M, Peter is a creeper, scene from canon twisted to fit my little scenario
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a walking fashion disaster, but that doesn't stop Peter from offering her the bite.  Or something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Less a Bite, More a Nibble

**Author's Note:**

> thegirlinpain on Tumblr requested Always-A-Girl!Stiles Steter fic. This is the result. *wide eyes*
> 
> Just so you know, I wrote this on my dwindling battery while the power was off due to construction shenanigans. I cannot for the life of me remember WHY they're in the parking garage during the Season 1 finale when Peter offers Stiles the bite, so I kinda made it up as I went along and seriously paraphrased that whole conversation. So. Ignore the slaughtering of canon.

Stiles walked into her room, slung her backpack on her bed, picked up her pillow, and screamed into it, long and loud. You'd think, with her life being what it was—in a word, WEREWOLVES—the rest of the world would move past things like her buzz cut. But no, of course not, because this was Beacon Hills and she was in _high school_. Seriously, what had she done so wrong in a past life to make high school her eternal punishment?

Leaning back against the wall by her bed, she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and repeated her mantra, "Two more years." It was the only thing saving her from 'borrowing' Mrs McCall's baseball bat and feeding it to a few jocks and their simpering princesses.

Pushing her very old, repetitive frustrations with her life down to swirl unhappily in the yawning pit of frustrations that was her stomach, she turned toward her computer and joggled the mouse, watching as the screen cleared up to show her password prompt. Typing in the random string of letters and numbers she changed weekly—with the recent supernaturally related searches on her computer, there was no way she could possibly relax her security—she pulled up the internet. When a porn site popped up, she immediately twisted to make sure her dad wasn't standing in the doorway before hurriedly X-ing out of it. But not before bookmarking the page because, wow, yeah, that had been _hot like fire_ , and she was definitely going back to it for Stiles Happy Alone Time later.

Her chat box opened in the middle of the screen, with Scott's face staring back at her. **Are you ready?** he typed, his face crooking up in concern.

**Not yet. Just gimme five,** she typed back in a flurry, ducking into her closet to pull out the lightly checked shirt and tie she planned to wear. Pulling the shirt on over a clean white undershirt—she never bothered with a bra, seeing as she didn't have enough up top to need one—she jumped back into the chair, grabbed onto the desk to keep it from dumping her onto the floor, and typed, **Be there in ten. Just gonna brush my teeth first.**

His eyes went wide and panicked, and he closed out his chat box without saying anything, prompting her to let out a sharp laugh. She dashed to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, sniffing under her arms before grabbing the deodorant and reapplying. Scrubbing one hand through the soft brush of her slightly too long buzz cut, she buttoned her shirt, tucked it into her short, school-girl pleated black skirt, and let her tie hang loose and sloppy around her neck as she bounded down the stairs. 

"Bye, Dad!" she called. "Going to the dance!"

"Stiles? Wait! Let me get a picture." The flurry of sound coming from the living room made Stiles slap a hand to her face and look down at her skirt with something like trepidation. When her dad stepped into the entryway, frowning down at the camera as he tried to adjust the settings, Stiles shifted her weight from one foot to the next. 

"Dad, I'm supposed to pick up Scott in like, seven minutes."

He opened his mouth, looked up at her, and then stopped, his lips still parted. A watery sheen came to his faded blue eyes, and Stiles' heart clenched in her chest. _Please_ , she prayed to any god that might be listening, _please don't let him see her in me. Don't let him grab the bottle off the top shelf as soon as I close the door._

"You look… beautiful, Stiles," he whispered gruffly, and dashed the back of his hand over his eyes. "Is it okay if I say that?"

Stiles swallowed the knot that instantly appeared in her throat and stumbled forward, wrapping her long, thin arms around her dad. "Yeah, Dad. Always."

"Can't believe my little girl is all grown up," he sighed, patting her back a little awkwardly, like the thought that she was a girl and not just his oddball offspring had him all thumbs and elbows.

"I can make you pick up my tampons next time you're out if that'll help," Stiles said brightly into the collar of his shirt, laughing when he stiffened in horror. "Just kidding. I love you, Dad," she added, because she didn't say it often enough, and with the world suddenly revealed to her in all its darkness, she kinda thought maybe she should make more of a point of letting him know.

"We've done okay, haven't we?" he asked, sounding worried.

"Better than anyone could ever hope for," she responded, pulling back and pressing a kiss to his weathered cheek, then dancing backward and striking ridiculous poses so he could get his pictures of her.

"Be home by midnight! No staying over at Scott's."

"Daaad. Come on," she whined, her face falling. "We were gonna play WoW."

"Not. Not tonight. Not when you look like that. He's just a boy; I remember too much what it was like at that age around pretty girls."

Stiles burst out laughing, even as she pulled a gag-worthy expression. "Oh my god, Dad, no!" She flailed wildly, almost knocking the table with her school pictures on it to the floor. "It's _Scott_."

"Yes, well. Humor me," he said dryly. "Midnight."

"Jeez, fine, but no griping about me being on the internet all night! I'm still playing WoW with my best friend!" She slipped out of the door, closing it behind herself before he could put any other stipulations on her.

Grumbling under her breath, she skipped down the driveway to the Jeep, pulling her keys out of the messenger bag she'd picked up on her way out. Her phone was a bit harder to locate, but she was pushing the call button to call back Scott by the time she had the driver's side door open. After letting him know she was running a few minutes late, she started the engine and backed quickly out of the driveway. 

Cranking up the radio, she was almost out of her neighborhood when an Alpha werewolf sat up in her backseat, flashed his eyes at her in the rearview mirror, and growled, "Take me to my car."

Stiles screamed, jerked the wheel, and bounced up over the curb and into Mr Johnson's front yard before wildly overcorrecting and nearly getting them t-boned by Mrs Cho from over on Magnolia Lane. Shaking like a leaf, Stiles straightened the Jeep out, pulled over, set her emergency brake and hazard lights and then just put her head down on the steering wheel and breathed for a long minute.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she moaned, turning her head to look in the backseat where, yep, Peter Hale was sitting. "What the hell, dude? What the mother loving hell?! If you're going to kill me, could you _not_ do it while I'm driving? Okay? I do not want to be another wildly skewed statistic that men point at and smirk about because _female drivers_."

"Stiles." His hand wrapped around her throat and she could _feel_ the tips of his claws where they rested against her skin, not pressing in, but… but so very threatening in just their very existence. "Shut up and take me to my car."

A shaky little breath left her, and she knew her eyes were probably taking up more than their fair share of room on her face at this point, but she just nodded and croaked out, "Your car. Okay. I'll take you to your car then."

The Jeep stuttered going into first, and was a bit jumpy for second, but then instinct took over and Stiles was driving smoothly, all with an Alpha werewolf's claws about two millimeters from her jugular. This was going on her fucking college applications if she survived this shit.

"Okay, so. Where'd you leave your car, then?"

~*~

After crawling into the front seat, Peter sat quietly beside Stiles, letting her calm down enough to drive them to the hospital parking garage without driving into oncoming traffic and killing them both. She was still giving off heady scents of fear and confusion, all overlaid atop her normal, light, baby powder scent. Her fingers were clenched in a death grip on the steering wheel, her short nails with their cracked, bitten off black paint, digging into the leather.

Stiles wasn't one for normal standards of femininity, and it wasn't difficult to ascertain why, though the idiots who lived in this town hadn't attempted even once to work through the puzzle of Stiles Stilinski with anything approaching logic. They all assumed she was a lesbian, too brash, too proud of her homosexuality. 

The idiots.

Peter, however, remembered Claudia Stilinski. Remembered her large, doe-brown eyes and pale, mole-spotted flesh. He remembered her thin, graceful body and her wide, generous smile. Put Stiles in a flowing dress and give her hair extensions, and she'd be the very image of her deceased mother.

It must make life awkward and uncomfortable in the Stilinski household.

So yes, Peter could understand the need to shave all her hair and keep it short. He could understand the baggy, male-typical clothing and the overloud, gawky personality. What he didn't understand, would never be able to understand, was why on earth the dear girl was wearing knee-length, red-striped athletic socks to a school dance. Under flat black mary janes, of course.

The very sight of them drove a mountain ash stake right into his vulnerable fashion sense.

When they pulled into the parking garage, Peter turned to her and said, "Get out."

"Wait, what? Why? I drove you to your damn car, Pet—okay!" She said, scrambling out of the driver's seat when he let his fangs extend and bared them in her face. By the time he exited smoothly and circled around the Jeep, she was standing there, keys dangling from one finger and heartbeat still tripping double-time. "She's a little tricky in first." 

Peter wrapped his hand around her keys before releasing them, watching the stunned terror in her eyes fade to confusion. "You've done something for me, now I'm going to do something for you," he murmured, stepping closer to her and watching with a smirk as she stumbled back against her car, her entire body quaking. "Do you want the bite, Stiles?" he asked, his voice husky. 

He heard the stutter of her heart just before she shook her head, and he smiled, the flash of his teeth all predator. 

"Are you certain? That night in the woods, when I bit Scott… It could have been either of you. He was just that bit slower. Easier prey. Everything happened to him? That could happen to you too. That popularity, getting the girl—" he didn't miss the tiny eye-roll she gave "—or the boy, in your case. The strength and speed and _power_. It could be all yours, Stiles."

And he had to give the girl credit. She took a moment to think about it before slowly shaking her head. Wetting her lips, she said, "No, I… Not now. I might hate myself for saying no later, but right now? I don't want it."

"I can hear it when you lie," he reminded her softly, edging even closer, letting his nostrils flare as a new scent began to permeate the air. It was warm, moist, full-bodied. It was… arousal. Breathing in through his parted lips, Peter tilted his head and leaned forward, brushing her ear with its tiny, delicate golden hoop with the air from his lungs. "If I can't give you the bite, perhaps there's something else you'd rather have?" He slid his palm over her stomach, letting his fingers dip just below the waistband of her skirt. 

He heard the tiny, almost inaudible sound of her breath catching, felt the flutter of her stomach under his hand, smelled the thickening scent of her arousal. She let out a little, helpless mewl, and dropped her head back to bounce loudly off her car window, her head rolling from one side to the other as she watched him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You… you're…" He could sense her hesitation.

"I'm not a bad guy, Stiles."

"You turn into a freaking monster with dripping fangs and bloody claws and red eyes. Of course you are," she said, but her voice was still breathless, thick with wanting.

"And you bleed for five days a month without dying. What has _that_ to do with _this_?" So saying, he leaned forward and sunk human-blunt teeth into her neck at the same time as he let his fingers skim lower, brushing over her damp heat through the cotton of her panties. 

If she were to say no at this point… well, he hoped she wouldn't. He wasn't entirely certain that he'd be able to stop, and it would make for tense relations with his new beta if he raped Scott's best friend. Touchy like that, these young ones.

But lucky for them both that she just surged forward, lifting her leg to hook it around his hip, her hands gripping his biceps as she whimpered with confused, terrified arousal. "Peter," she breathed, then, "tell me that bite won't turn me."

He chuckled into her skin, swiping his tongue over the tooth marks there, and murmured, "No, silly girl. I'm all human. For now. Unless you want me to shift? That could be—"

"Haha, yeah, no. No. Not… just. Fuck, I can't believe we're doing this. Here. Now. I'm supposed to be picking up Scott for a _high school dance_ and instead I'm making out with—"

He dove forward and shut her up in a far more pleasant way than ripping her throat out. Pleasantly enough, her mouth was already open, just waiting for him. He lined their mouths up and ignored the fact that she continued talking for a beat or two while he licked into her mouth. She tasted sweet and fresh, like a ripe peach.

He busied himself pulling the man's shirt she was wearing from the waistband of her skirt. He slid one hand up to cup and caress her plump little nipple through the soft fabric of the undershirt she was wearing, while the other hand eased between her thighs, rucking up her skirt and pushing her panties to the side. He thrust one finger into her hot, damp folds while slowly drawing his thumb in a circle over her clit. 

When she started keening into his mouth, when her nipple was a hard nub, he began rolling his hips, forcing his trapped hand against her over and over. It didn't take long; she was too primed from adrenaline and the confusion of satisfied arousal to last long. Within minutes, she was clenching around his finger, drenching him in her release, even as she tightened her hold on his arms and _whimpered_.

Tearing her mouth from his, she hitched her hips, moaning, and breathed, "Fuck. _Peter!_ "

"Perhaps later," he whispered in her ear, withdrawing his hands and straightening her clothes. When she went to fumble at her shirt's hem, he tsked, and said, "Leave it. It's the least tragic part of your entire ensemble."

She stared at him, confused, lips bitten red and a livid mark darkening on her throat. 

"Go to your dance," he said, backing far enough away that she could look down and see how very much her passion had affected him.

"But you…"

"Go. If you wish to discuss this situation later, you know where to find me."

"I really don't," she grumbled, but turned and pawed at the door handle to her Jeep before scrambling inside, obviously unfamiliar enough with short skirts to not realize the tantalizing peek she was giving him at the girlish flowers that dotted her panties.

"You're a clever, resourceful girl," he said, smirking. "You'll figure it out."


End file.
